Not just a pretty face

Mike, a retired university lecturer, steps into the TV studio for his audition to be a BBC science presenter. "May I take off my glasses?" he asks the producer. She nods, and he puts them down on the table, before doing an experiment to the camera. An hour later there is a knock on the studio door. "Excuse me – did I leave my glasses here?"

It is just what television has lacked: an absent-minded professor. Science, the BBC believes, is the new rock'n'roll. But it has a shortage of science presenters. And so BBC Talent, the wing of the corporation charged with finding new stars, is auditioning teachers, lecturers, engineers and anyone who can present an experiment on TV with knowledge, authority and maybe even a hint of eccentricity.

I sit in on the auditions, the last phase of a process that has attracted 1,500 applicants. The winner will be chosen shortly, and those who haven't won will be kept on file for use as talking heads on Newsnight and a host of other programmes.

The auditions are remarkable in showing, at last, a change of philosophy by the broadcasters. No longer is the hunt just for young, attractive presenters, whatever the state of their knowledge. Here are, if not the great unwashed, then certainly the great overweight, retired, badly dressed, in need of a haircut, but without exception knowledgeable and infectiously interested and excited. It is like being back at school with a good teacher who might just turn you on to the subject you have tried to skive.

Angie Stephenson, head of BBC Talent, says: "I want to get the sort of person you meet who really interests you at a good dinner party. We're looking for people who have real charisma, real passion for their subject, and can tell the story with that passion."

The producer in charge of the auditions, Catherine Mabb, risks a BBC reprimand when she adds: "We're not looking for the stereotypical good-looking presenter. They could be quite ugly."

Mike, the retired lecturer, isn't. He is extremely affable as well as authoritative. But his prop isn't too appealing – a cowpat, to illustrate the link between global warming and fossil fuels. He makes the case convincingly, but it is his improvised words during the soundcheck that are more memorable: "I came up on the train on a senior citizen's railcard; you've given me this mobile phone to use in an experiment. It's a marvellous opportunity because I don't even have one."

All the wannabe presenters were asked to bring along an object. Mike's cowpat is the smelliest, but far from the most eccentric. One candidate has brought his brother. Another, insects and a killer virus in a jar. Never have so many white-faced producers, cameramen and directors been assembled in an audition studio. Some of the teachers and lecturers already know from their own lectures how to grab an audience. Graeme, a university lecturer in organic chemistry, brings a DNA model and enthuses about its "sex appeal".

A former life-sciences lecturer, describing herself as a "single mum and mystery shopper" delivers a presentation on the sex life of the snail. "Ballsy", the producers note, whispering to one another. Then, showing that they might not be quite ready to stop thinking in terms of the usual suspects, they add: "Could be a Charlie Dimmock type."

Some of the props are simple but ingenious. Jane, an Open University research fellow, shows why some volcanoes erupt and others don't, with a pot of honey. She shakes it, but it just trickles over; then she shakes a bottle of Coke.

Few of the candidates seem to model themselves on TV scientists past or present – with one exception. A teacher with wild beard, hair and enthusiasm is clearly a fan of the madly gesticulating David Bellamy. Another man, a young engineer, with jeans, stubble and a chain round his neck, is evidently a guy who watches TV. His look is enhanced by his knowledge. With others, it isn't. Mabb says: "We had a couple of girls who were really attractive, but they had no authority. You just didn't believe them."

For the scientists, there are deeper motives than just wanting their face on the telly. Phil, from the Natural Resources Institute at Kew Gardens, says after his audition: "One of my motives is getting rid of the notion that scientists are boring Frankenstein types. TV can address ignorance."

Just bringing a new dimension to the formulaic TV presenter will be a start. Indeed, how about using these wannabe science presenters to staff the game shows, too?